


An Orphan of Fortune

by twonoteswivel (orphan_account)



Series: post side hope stuff [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9585644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/twonoteswivel
Summary: He had always found faith in his own foresight. Sometimes it was hard to see– with hope and fate, luck and death all swimming in his vision– but the ending was always the same, a conclusion blossoming with promise. It was the one thing of which he was always certain.But he couldn’t fit his convictions into their current situation at all.





	

Komaeda’s initial act on his first night back on the island was to take apart his bed.  
  
It didn't require much effort to remove all the sheets and pillows and lift the mattress out from the frame, but the rest was quite a process. He had to take down the canopy and unscrew the headboard, and then carefully make sure each piece of what was once the bed was secured properly and not left in any areas of the room that could inadvertently cause accidents.  When he was finally finished, Komaeda allowed himself to look around the cottage. It was rather different from what he recalled from the simulation– for one thing, the furniture was sparse, there were layers of dust everywhere, and his own modifications had given the room a rather deconstructed, industrial vibe. But Komaeda was never one to care much about aesthetics.  
  
"Home sweet home," he said to the empty room, his voice sounding harsher than usual to his ears. Then he commended himself for his efforts and went to sleep on the mattress on the floor.

The feeling of accomplishment, though fleeting, vanished almost completely the next morning when Hinata stopped by his cottage on the way to breakfast and looked around, first at the various pieces of bed, then at Komaeda lying half-awake on the mattress. He was sure Hinata was disgusted by the sight of him with bedhead and general morning grubbiness and was taking a sort of pleasure in relishing in the misery of that fact before Hinata even opened his mouth and said "Seriously?" But while he'd expected revulsion, Hinata just sounded slightly amused.  
  
"Care to join me?" Komaeda said, trying for the next best way of ensuring Hinata's disgust. Instead, though, Hinata just gave him an unimpressed stare and said "I'll see you at breakfast."  
  
The expression itself, Komaeda decided, was very Kamukura-esque.

“Think about all the things that could go wrong with a bed,” Komaeda said, in his opinion very reasonably, when he did end up seeing Hinata at breakfast. “All the screws could come out in the middle of the night and you could break your spine in half. The canopy could fall and give you a concussion. While getting up, you could trip on the sheets and hit your head in just the right way to get a traumatic brain injury.” He smiled. “Doesn’t that make sense? You know, I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

Hiyoko, who was nearby and clearly eavesdropping on the conversation, was smirking at him, he knew, but he didn’t listen because he had Hinata’s full attention, then, and that was all that mattered. “But you didn’t do any of that in the simulation,” Hinata reasoned, idly tapping his finger against his glass of orange juice even as he looked directly into Komaeda’s eyes. “Didn’t you feel the same way about things? Why the change now?”

Komaeda smiled and shrugs. “Oh, you know. With my luck, better safe than sorry!”  
  
But Hinata was doing that thing where he scrunched up his eyebrows to focus that Komaeda, personally, found somewhat mesmerizing, so he found himself unable to resist explaining, simply, that the fabulous stroke of good fortune that resulted in not only his revival, but his resettlement on the island as part of the group, would inevitably be followed by a series of catastrophes possibly including but not limited to–

“drowning in the ocean, or a sudden natural disaster, or all of Gundam’s hamsters suddenly growing to huge sizes and stampeding, or a nuclear explosion,” he explained as he left the cafeteria with Hinata. Probably he was babbling and his awful, ugly, grating voice was getting on Hinata’s nerves, but he just couldn’t _control_ himself with someone so willing to listen.

Also, he kind of hated that vacant, confused expression on Hinata’s face when he didn’t fucking _get it_.

As if it was so hard to understand!

Of course, it would be much better if he would have stayed dead, and if Hinata would realize it was best to leave him alone so Komaeda could stop wanting him to be around, and if Hinata wouldn’t say things like–

“So that’s it?”

“Hm?”  
  
“That’s it?” Hinata repeated. “You’re worried about your bad luck, so you’re just going to live like this forever?”

Komaeda looked for a moment, at Hinata’s face, searching for judgement or pity or some other reaction Komaeda could make sense of, but instead just found something unreadable.

It was such a shame, because Komaeda really thought that maybe, _maybe_ , Hinata finally understood.

“Can you ask me that,” Komaeda said slowly, pushing a finger into Hinata’s chest and ignoring the barely audible change in the pace of his breathing, “when _you_ don’t even know who _you are_?”

“I–”

“How about you ask him?” Komaeda drawled, not bothering to hide the mocking tone in his voice. “I’m sure _he_ knows– he was always so observant. At least I know myself. It’s a little upsetting that the both of you would ignore what you’ve already seen.” He smiled sardonically. “Maybe you don’t understand me as well as I thought.”

Hinata met Komaeda’s gaze squarely. “That’s really what you think? That I don’t understand?”

“Heeey, Hajime!”

They both turned around; it was Mahiru calling. “We’re going to go exploring, check out what the island’s really like. Do you want to come? And, uh, Komaeda too, I guess.”

“Uh–”  Hinata started, but Komaeda interrupted him. “I’ll be fine staying here! Have a good time.”

Hinata narrowed his eyes. “But–”

Mahiru was already looking away from Komaeda. “Okay, whatever. Coming, Hajime?”

Komaeda turned away before he saw Hinata react. Perhaps he would head to the library, if the risk of suddenly falling books could be avoided. The rest of the day was still his, in all its beautiful, tropical glory.

* * *

Komaeda made every effort to stay inconspicuous for the next week, he really did. The temptation to be among his former classmates was strong, even for someone as familiar with isolation as he was. Most of them seemed, for some reason, well inclined to give him a second chance– he supposed it was the feeling of jubilation and triumph that hadn’t yet evaporated (Kuzuryuu had actually clapped him on the back the other day). It was something of a pity he stayed away, but Komaeda managed to pass the time by imagining all the horrible things that would happen to him soon. All in all, it was a relief when all that came about when he next ventured outside his cottage was Pekoyama’s sword slicing his hand open.

Pekoyama’s look of mute horror was a little surprising to Komaeda, who thought that a former Ultimate Despair and Yakuza bodyguard would be able to handle a little bloodshed. If only to ease her distress, he held up his bloodied hand (the right one, not the mechanical one) and said “It’s all right. I’m fine!”

From the other end of the cafeteria, Mitarai screamed.

“Maybe,” the Imposter said testily, “this will teach the two of you not to play any more dangerous games indoors.”

“With all due respect,” Pekoyama argued, finally tearing her eyes away from Komaeda, “she challenged my prowess with the blade, and to back down would be a great dishonor–”

“Hey, all I said was that I didn’t think you could cut these apples in mid-air if I threw ‘em at you. I didn’t think you’d really take up the challenge!” Owari contended, still holding two or three fruits in her hands and tucked under her arms.

Sonia clapped her hands. “Are we going to have a food fight?”

“Well,” Komaeda said, shouting to be heard over the chorus of arguing voices, “I think I’m going to go see Tsumiki. I’ll see you all around later!”

Yes, Komaeda decided as he cradled his hand on the walk over to the park where he’d seen Tsumiki earlier, it was a good thing the only bad luck this time had been a minor physical injury. He’d seen much worse; he _had_ amputated the other hand himself, after all. This would probably mean he was safe for the time being. It was best not to think about it too much.

He had only stopped by the cafeteria to search for some necessary nourishment before heading over to the library. It had been decided that once a week, the team of Future Foundation professionals assigned to the cases of the former Ultimate Despair would call in via the Internet and conduct a routine psychotherapy session for each individual. After the trauma each had undergone in the program, what with the homicide and all, it was understandable Naegi and the rest were taking their rehabilitation seriously. Komaeda held a somewhat low opinion of psychiatry as a field, but he was cheered when he learned the Foundation would be assisted by some Hope’s Peak trainees. Surely some capable Ultimates would be lending a hand. That would make this effort have more meaning for him. Probably.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case.

“Sorry,” Tsumiki mumbled when he found her in the park, rocking back and forth on her heels. “It’s just what I heard from Ibuki who heard from Sonia who heard from Hajime…”

Komaeda closed his eyes. ”You’re saying… there are no Ultimates anymore?”

“Makoto Naegi, he, um, changed things at the academy,” Tsumiki said, trembling slightly. “Ibuki said that Sonia said that Hajime said that Naegi said that he was using his authority as the principal to make an, um, executive decision, and that having Ultimate students is, umm, exclusionary, and doesn’t correspond with the vision the, uh, current staff has for Hope’s P– _Please_ don’t look at me like that!”

“Oh,” Komaeda said, after a moment. “Sorry, Tsumiki. Was I glaring?”

“Yeah… I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to make you upset!” Tsumiki wailed.

It was incredible, Komaeda thought wryly, what Junko’s commanded devotion had done. Somehow she had transformed this frightened, flighty thing into another one of her monsters. Junko’s power had truly been something to behold. Komaeda missed it a little.

Returning to the matter at hand, Komaeda opened his mouth a little and then closed it. “So that’s the decision Makoto Naegi made…” His mind raced with possibilities. Obviously it had been a fatal mistake. That was the correct conclusion. But then why did he have such a strange feeling? There were surely no advantages to massacring the future hope of an entire generation. To destroy a tradition so sacred and vital was not just foolhardy, it was insane. That was what Komaeda knew to be true. So why couldn’t he reconcile his logic with what he’d just heard? Was there another factor causing some kind of error in his reasoning? Was there–

“Um,” Tsumiki said hesitantly. “Your hand…” She was already reaching into her bag for her supplies.

“Oh!” He had forgotten. “Here you go.” He held it out in front of him. They sat at the base of the statue, protected from the sunlight by the cover of shade.

As Tsumiki cleaned his wound with antiseptic, she cleared her throat. “By the way, Komaeda, when is your, um, session scheduled?”

“Hm? Oh, right now.”

“R-Right now?” Tsumiki shrieked. “Then you need to be going! I’ll have to– oh–” She turned around frantically and grabbed for a bandage, almost tripping in her haste.

Sensing an impending accident, Komaeda attempted to defuse the situation. “Don’t worry, Tsumiki, I don’t plan on attending.”

“You don’t? But I thought it was required… I wrote down when mine is on my hand so I wouldn’t forget…”

“Well,” said Komaeda, “I have a reason to believe it’ll be a waste of time for me.”

“But you should… I still think you should give it a chance,” Tsumiki said, chewing on her bottom lip. “Komaeda, I know about what– what happened in the program, after I– left. What happened to you, and…” She struggled to find her next words.

“And everyone still treats me like I deserve to be here,” Komaeda said, laughing a little as she wrapped the bandages tighter. “And you’re still treating me– literally. It’s amazing, isn’t it? You know, I’m starting to think you’re all just very good at forgetting about what you don’t want to see.”

“I– no,” Tsumiki whispered, bowing her head so Komaeda couldn’t see her face. “That isn’t what I meant. I’ll always–”  She looked up suddenly, and Komaeda was startled by her defiant expression. “I’ll always treat anyone that needs help. That’s who I am. But what I meant is–” She grasped Komaeda’s mechanical hand, suddenly. “We all have to be strong now. I know I– that I don’t even have the right to say that, yet, but I’m trying to get stronger. We all have to look out for each other. all of us. And I know that you probably don’t want me around, but I’m– I’m here for you too!” Her face reddened. “I mean, ah, all of us are.”

Komaeda blinked. Then he smiled broadly. “You’re inspiring, Tsumiki. You’ve made it your mission to be strong.” He moved the fingers on his injured hand absently. “I wish I could say the same. I suppose I’m a survivor, but it doesn’t feel like I’m living for a reason. It seems more like I’ve been spared.” He looked back at Tsumiki, who was wearing her usual world-weary expression. This wasn’t the first time she’d treated him. He remembered now, how she’d fretted over his unlucky scrapes during their short time at the Academy, and recalled even more strongly how he’d survived that disease in her care, saw her face looming over him through his disturbed haze, deadened and delirious in its total despair.

Of course. No matter what she said, wasn’t Mikan Tsumiki weak, just like the rest of them? Wasn’t she just another fallen saint who had given in? He should have felt nothing for her, less than nothing. Instead, he was only aware of a troubling sense of kinship.

“Sorry,” Komaeda said, ducking his head and smiling to himself. “I’m just rambling. There’s no need for you to listen to me babble.”

“No, it’s– it’s okay,” Tsumiki said, giving him a hesitant smile. “I know I’m being– naive, or, um, idealistic, but I think we all got another chance for... a reason. You too, Komaeda... And me, even though I’m a monster...”

Before he could respond, he heard footsteps approaching and turned his head.

“Hey!” It was Owari, already shouting as she approached. “Either of you wanna be my sparring partner? Mr. Imposter kicked me out of the cafeteria and now I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you just call it what it is?” Saionji snickered, trailing a little behind her. “What she’s _really_ asking for her is someone to be her punching bag.”

“Am not! These two aren’t any good, though; they’d break if I so much as poked ‘em with a feather,” Owari said, sauntering near enough to stand over them.

“You’re right… And I think it’s best if we avoid any more injuries today,” Mikan said, in her slightly miserable voice.

“Really, though,” Saionji said, crossing her arms and leaning over to peer intently at Komaeda. “You look so docile sometimes. It almost makes me forget you’re not all there!” She knocked against the side of Komaeda’s head to illustrate her point.

“Ah,” said Komaeda.

“That’s true,” said Owari. “He seems all calm, but he’s got that fighting spirit.”

“Well, that’s not really what I was saying, but if the shoe fits,” said Saionji, shrugging.

“Hey!” Owari roared suddenly, slapping a fist into her open palm. “Listen, I’ve got the perfect idea. How about I train you? I was already thinking I’m about ready to take on a pupil now. We can shock everyone on this island with your transformation from a scrawny little shrimp into a muscled-up beefcake! Come on, what do you say?”

“Ah ha ha,” Komaeda laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know if I–”  

“Oh, come on,” said Hiyoko, yanking Komaeda up and ignoring his yelp of surprise. “Seriously, you stay holed up all day like some kind of hermit. You’re a freak and everything, but you need to get out more.” She grinned. “Plus, I want to see if you’re as fragile as you seem.”

Komaeda attempted to protest as Owari tugged him away, but then closed his mouth and thought better of it. There was no way to tell what kind of luck this was, so he’d just have to be silent and observe.

“Um, wait!” Tsumiki cried, hastily gathering her things and running up towards them. “I have a bad feeling about this, so if you need a medical professional on hand–”

“Fine, you can come, but don’t get in the way of the training session!” Hiyoko yelled back over her shoulder.

All in all, Komaeda reflected as he was dragged away, it was still better than therapy.

* * *

Komaeda was still just fine with staying away from the water, and he was prone to sunburn, so the beach held no appeal for him whatsoever. Of course, in the simulation he had entertained fantasies of Hinata offering to accompany him for a moonlit stroll along the shore, but those always ended with him being swept away by the waves and suffering a watery demise while Hinata cried tears of remorse and promised to honor his memory forever. That aside, the beach was effectively useless for him. The rest of the island’s inhabitants had no problems with it, however, and it was often used as a venue for all sorts of rowdy festivities that Komaeda publicly denied to attend and privately found rather useless. His own thoughts on the matter surprised him. If anything, the jubilation of his former classmates should have pleased him, too.

But the next night while inside his cottage, he was startled by what sounded like gunshots. Komaeda frowned. There was no real _need_ for a murder just then, as far as he could see; the strong spirit of hope embedded in each of his former classmates after their victory and sacrifice should have been enough without some despair to give it a push, but if one of these Ultimates, fallen they may have been, had a different point of view, then who was he to think that–

A burst of color in the sky suddenly drew his attention to the window. Komaeda stared at it, realization dawning. “Fireworks,” he said to himself. “Just fireworks.”

For some reason, he laughed then, a desperate, shuddering laugh that made his shoulders shake. Then he went outside and walked over to the beach, because what the hell.

Further down the shoreline, the fireworks bloomed in the sky, the dull, faraway cracking sounds intermingled with the chatter and laughter of the others. Someone must have found some at the store, or something. It all seemed very far away to Komaeda.

He shrugged off his jacket and sunk down in the sand, using the balled-up hoodie as a pillow for his head. There was simply no way this could last, he thought absently as he watched the display continue, turning his eyes to the sky.

He had always found faith in his own foresight. Sometimes it was hard to see– with hope and fate, luck and death all swimming in his vision– but the ending was always the same, a conclusion blossoming with promise. It was the one thing of which he was always certain.

But he couldn’t fit his convictions into their current situation at all. It was too idyllic, too peaceful, too clean. Atonement couldn’t happen so easily for them, all sinners, all disgusting and beautiful at once. It made him unsure. And he could feel that uncertainty teetering on the precipice of something cold and unfeeling inside of him, something familiar and bleak.

“Why are you over here?”

There was no way he was imagining the measured voice coming from behind him, but Komaeda tilted his head back just to make sure it was in fact real. And there was Hinata, upside-down but still easily identifiable with his spiky head and single red eye. Seeing him always brought out a feeling of wild happiness, comforting and– transient. Inevitably transient. Maybe that was why the sight of Hinata tended to make Komaeda so angry, these days.

Hinata was standing by himself there in the sand, frowning slightly. “I saw you leaving your cottage.”

He looked up at Hinata, eyes rolling up as far back as they could go, and smiled. “You really do keep following me around, don’t you, Hinata? You should be careful. I might get the wrong idea. I’m sure you don’t want me having any more inappropriate thoughts–”

“You didn’t come to your session,” Hinata interrupted. He stepped closer, looming above Komaeda and looking downwards.

Impulsively, from his place on the ground, Komaeda reached out and tugged Hinata closer by his tie, so that they were suddenly facing each other. Hinata made a noise of surprise, but kept his balance **.**

Komaeda felt a little thrill at Hinata’s startled expression. _Finally, something, give me something, anything_. “You didn’t tell me Hope’s Peak was getting rid of the Ultimates.”

Hinata was silent for a moment. Komaeda waited, barely daring to breathe. Then Hinata closed a hand on Komaeda’s wrist, unbearably gentle, until Komaeda let go of his tie. He straightened up and, to Komaeda’s surprise, offered Komaeda his hand.  
  
“Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

It was a daydream fulfilled; what else could he do? Komaeda took it.

As he walked next to Hinata, Komaeda fiddled idly with the bandage on his hand. Hinata looked at the injury and frowned. “You hurt yourself?”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing,” Komaeda said absently. “Could have been much worse.” Hinata pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.

They trudged along the beach in silence for another moment. Because he’d always been selfish, Komaeda was enjoying himself. He so rarely allowed himself any luxury, and now Hinata was doing him the favor of offering his company, flawed though it may have been, and bad for the both of them. He had almost forgotten his grievance when Hinata spoke again.

“Do you really think Makoto ending the Ultimate search is so bad?”

“Of course,” Komaeda said, frowning. “It’s against everything I stand for. It’s an insult that he’d throw hope away like that. It’s dangerous.”

“Somehow,” Hinata said, kicking some sand with the tip of his shoe, “It’s really starting to sound like you’re reciting a script when you say things like that.”

Komaeda chuckled. “I’ve always been like this. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Oh, no,” Hinata said calmly. “I just don’t believe you.”

“Well,” said Komaeda, turning away, “that’s perfectly understandable! You’ve known me as a liar. It’s completely reasonable for you to doubt every word I say. I mean, I’ve always done nothing but babble and say stupid things so it’s a mystery why you even bother to listen to me!”

Hinata looked out at the sea. “Whatever. I can tell you’re not sure what to think, so I won’t push you for now.”

Komaeda smiled. “Thank you.” Komaeda was grateful for his consideration, but Hinata was wrong. Komaeda had no need for introspection. His thoughts had always stayed the same. Nothing could convince him otherwise, no absurd decision by the Hope’s Peak staff, no false universe in the Neo World Program.

“But you have to do something in return,” said Hinata, turning to face him.

“A catch? I should have known such kindness wouldn’t come without a price. What is it?”

“Borrow something from me.”

“Borrow something?”

Hinata dug into his pockets and pulled something out, closed it in his fist. He held his palm out to Komaeda and opened it.

It took him a moment, but Komaeda recognized it. “That’s… Chiaki’s,” Komaeda said. “Chiaki’s hairclip.” He smiled a little, remembering their mild-mannered class representative, her comfort, her guidance. Her demise. “Why do you want me to borrow it?”

Hinata examined it with the eye of someone who’d memorized its appearance. “It’s what saved me. Her memory.” Komaeda grew still, alert. “More times than I can count.”

“Do you think I need saving?” It was a loaded question.

“No. I think you could use a reminder.”

“A reminder,” Komaeda mused. Then he chuckled a little. “Do you know what this seems like to me? It seems like a good-luck charm. I really hope you haven’t forgotten I already have good luck. _Ultimate_ good luck. Why would I need something like this? I’m grateful for my pitiful talent. So what if it’s cyclical? It’s what got me–”  

“Oh, spare me,” Hinata snapped. Finally, he looked a little put-out, which made Komaeda rejoice inwardly both because it was finally a _reaction_ and because Komaeda had always found an annoyed Hinata distractingly endearing. “I already told you I don’t need to hear your spiel. Don’t think about it like that. That’s not what this should mean to you. Do you know why Chiaki died? Not because she was foolish or weak. It’s because she loved you.” His eyes weren’t meeting Komaeda’s. “She loved all of you, everyone in her class, and even me, though I don’t know why. Keep this, and promise me you’ll think about it sometimes. That she was your friend, and now all of us are, too, because of her.”

Komaeda thought of Chiaki, of Junko, of Kamukura, of Hinata.

He reached out and took the hairclip from Hinata’s hand.

“It’s a nice gesture, Hinata,” Komaeda said, placing the clip inside his pocket. “But it won’t be enough.“ He smiled. “Misfortune will find me soon. And if you stay close to me, it’ll strike you, too. Then what will you do?”

“What else can I do?” said Hinata. He looked out at the last fireworks fading in the sky, and the distant forms of their friends gathered ahead, and looked resolute. “I’ll be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from the song of the same name by MGMT.


End file.
